


Fine Dining

by PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess



Category: Marvel, Spiderman - Fandom, X-Men
Genre: Date Night, From fancy to freedom, Gift Fic, Idiots, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 02:16:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21500188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess/pseuds/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess
Summary: [Gift] Sometimes you want to do an anniversary right, but that doesn't always mean tuxedoes and waiters attending your every need.
Relationships: Logan (X-Men)/Peter Parker, Spiderclaw, Spiderman/Wolverine
Kudos: 20





	Fine Dining

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Freshsalad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freshsalad/gifts).



> Gift for Freshsalad.  
> Written in a blur, enjoy the nonsense.

With high vaulted ceiling, glittering cutlery, elegant decorations on every wall and well-dressed clientele, the whole restaurant came off as very... stuffy. It wasn't even the smartly-attired waiters in every direction that seemed half-telepathic given how quickly they could interpret a slight tilt of the head or almost impercetible gesture from a rich so-and-so at one of the tables.

It was just... the atmosphere.

The whole place felt like, well, like he was trapped at some sort of fashion show for peacocks. Each very subtly showing off their wealth in little ways and watching from the corner of their eyes to make sure the others saw.  No one here seemed to be friends, or to even be enjoying the company of their guests... but it was about being _seen_. 

It made him uncomfortable, frankly. But Logan seemed to be enjoying the chance to flex his linguistic legs whilst ordering from the menu... so, maybe it wasn't so bad?

How did Mr Stark stand this kind of society, though? They seemed so... _so fake_. But then, so could Mr Stark, sometimes; he realised with a thunderbolt of clarity, mind going full glaxy brain for a second. Even the knee-trembling, dazzling smile that Mr Stark would put on for the media, bright as it was, never seemed real to Peter. It was the difference between seeing a photo of a cat, and being able to hold one in your arms.

And another thing... the suit itched. Well, not _itched_ , because it was hand-made, tailored to his size and perfectly soft as silk... _only the best when you have God's credit card_ (as Peter had taken to calling it). But it felt... really odd; like the expense of the fabric was chaffing at his flesh. Some dark corner of Peter's mind that still recalled high school sociology was whisperng that Karl Marx would have thought this whole situation quite the metaphor for the proletariat.

Peter wriggled in his seat, uncomfortable at the surroudning decadance and clever mind running back to a thousand little things that the suit could have paid for instead. _The next three months' rent for Aunt May, a professional in to the leaky showerhead, the obscene summer electrical bill, the-..._

Peter's erratic thoughts snap off like a switch has been thrown, as a large, familiar hand gently touches his own on the tabletop. He looks up to see those strangely soft, knowing eyes watching him.

"You alright, babe?" James asks, thumb rubbing a small, soothing circle on Peter's wrist. The action quietly relaxing muscles Peter wasn't even aware he was tensing... even if some part of his clever spidey-mind was also trying to point out that someone with metal bones just so happened to _also_ be subtlely trying to check Peter's pulse.

"Yeah..." he breathes, smiling a little awkwardly at the situation. He's being silly. Maybe he just needed to take a deep breath and let it go; focus on your boyfriend, he's trying to impress you. Why is he so calm? _Oh no, he's looking at us again... are we making a weird face? Is there something on our face? What if-..._

His hand is squeezed, and Peter releases the fork in his free hand; the elegant metal now bent into shapes it was never intended to be. With a bemused smile, James snatches it up, and bends it back into a fair aproximation of the shape it was originally meant to occupy. There's a cocky smirk on those lips that said, _'No harm, no foul'_... and Peter wanted to kiss it right the hell off the ruggedly handsome bastard of a man!

"Hey, look... Stark said it might be a fun place ta try and have a date night somewhere with a dress code a bit more stringent than ' _please wear pants if you want to be served'_. But we don't gotta stay here if ya not feelin' it..." James says, fiddling with the bowtie at his throat and dismantling it deftly. 

Peter's throat bobs as he swallows, trying to hold in the handful of not-for-public-consumption thoughts that arose like a tidal wave at the tantalising glance of tanned skin under formal attire, as Logan unbuttoned the collar to his chest. The scent of his approval must have wafted across the table, because James' cocky grin grew far wider.

"C'mon, Pete-y, let's find something a tad more our scene, huh? Come back for some sorta fancy occasion, but tonight I'm feelin' like it ain't fer us." He rises, moving around the table to offer his hand.

Peter takes it, smiling at the ludicrous gallantry of the whole situation. Several waiters swarmed, trying to find what the matter had been, if their meal was taking too long, what they could do to keep the custom... but the pair brush them off with a general ' _see you later guys_ '. 

Outside the night air is sweet, cool and overwhelmingly _real_ in the best possible way. Peter takes a lungful and laughs as James tugs them down the cobbled street. Few people are out now,  and their path is unimpeded as they pass restaurant after restaurant. Each themed in different styles, but all filled to bursting with people.  Some looked inviting, with people appearing to actually be enjoying their meals and the company at their tables... but still the pair kept going. None of them felt quite... right. 

Peter's bowtie came free and was pocketed at some point, and then the jackets ended up slung over arms. He found it was easier to breathe without the top two buttons holding him hostage within the fine fabric.  Something in his head was trying hard to find a joke about being able to wear skin-tight super suits, but panicking at formal attire... but for the moment, nothing was forthcoming.

The fancy, italian leather shoes were unfamiliar... but as they trod onward taking a right here, a left, the scent of river growing stronger with each step... the ground began to feel right. Feel... like they were headed to a proper destination, one they knew oh so well.

Moonlight struck the water and made the small choppy waves sparkle. Here and there couples, little families and small groups milled around; eating, laughing, chatting. It felt tranquil and calm... and, well, _right_. Somehow. 

Peter nudges James, tilting his head at the hotdog vendor doing a roaring trade down the street, and the pair veer toards the stout little businessman. Coming away with some well-loaded weiners, and trying their best to eat them without ruining the blinding white of their fancy suit shirts.  Judging from the expressions they gave one another, it was far more entertaining to watch, than it was to attempt. Ah well... what was a drop of mustard on a shirt between lovers? 

Stark probably had something that could blast stains out using the power of friendship or something... the man was a genius.

Peter laughs as James finishes his dinner, and the moonlight highlights the smear of mustard across his cheek. The spiderling licks a thumb, trying very hard not to suddenly imagine himself turning into his Aunt May, and wiped it away.  James startles a little, and then kisses the offending thumb; and it's such an unexpectedly cheesy, romantic gesture that Peter can't hold in the laugh that bursts free. He might have even snorted... but there's no way in hell he'd ever admit it.

"Dork." James huffs affectionately.

"Nerd." Peter retorts, tone equally adoring.

They link arms, wandering down the long stretch of walkway beside the river; pausing only to get some icecream for dinner from a small shop near the bridge. No matter how many bodies moved around, past, or alongside... it strangely felt like the world consisted of the two of them alone.

Just James and Peter, their icecreams, and the moon shining down on the river beside them. At some point one of them pauses to lean against the concrete barrier, gazing absently at the water... and the other watches him, far more captivated by the beauty of his lover than anything else.   
  
They are caught, and gently mocked for being just as cheesy as their dinner had been... and the pair eventually fold together; pressed shoulder to shoulder as they finish their icecream cones.

"I'm glad we decided to celebrate our own way, rather than staying in the restaurant." Peter says at some point, leaning his head on James' shoulder and watching a small boat drift past. 

A kiss is pressed into his hair, and a rumbling voice responds, "And is this all you hoped for? For our anniversary, I mean?"

Peter turns his head to kiss the man, and is almost shocked at the sudden loss of familiar warmth, as James moves. Gods, he'd forgotten how fast Logan can move when...

...he...

...wants...

...to...

_ Oh. _

The word burbles out of his throat in answer before James can even ask. "YES!" he yells, catching the attention of several other people around, who turn to cheer and applaud in that odd way strangers do when allowed to view a special moment.

James doesn't manage to get off his knee before Peter is down there with him, kissing the romantic idiot through a haze of delighted, bewildered tears and laughing... as he pulls his own box from a suit pocket.

James kisses him again, briefly. "Yes ta you too, babe." He whispers hoarsely, trying and failing to push down the soppy stream of emotion that seemed to be weeling up from within; and the pair exchange rings.

" _Oh my gods... of course we'd try to propose at the same time..._ " Peter laments into James' shoulder, too delighted to really mean it.

They finally get up, and there's a final soft round of clapping as the people around them begin to move away; faceless witnesses to a dual propoal unlike any other, and they'd never know.  Peter can't help but pepper the mutant with kisses, it's all his brain can think to do. James laughs brightly, in his rumbling tone, and manages to calm the arachnid acrobat down with soothing touches. 

"I think this is the happiest moment of my life..." Peter mumbles in a sort of delightedly detached disbelief, face buried in James' shoulder because he can't think what you're supposed to do next. And his mind just keeps pressing the ' _holy shit you're getting married, smile like your face will break'_ button over and over.

"Pfft, no it ain't. Haven't even seen me in a wedding dress yet." James says, tone completely deadpan as he starts to steer them back the way they came; heading for home now that it was getting late. 

The words, and the mental image, caught up with Peter like a strike of lightning... leaving the Spiderhero conflicted. Laughing hysterically even as some part of his brain was definitely filing that image under ' _arousing concepts_ ' for later.

"You're lucky I love you..." he murmurs, in a teasng tone.

"Right back atcha, bugboy..." James grins, and squeezes that arm around Peter's shoulders. 

All in all... a pretty damn good anniversary.

~)0(~

* * *

**Epilogue:**

"Did you get that, JARVIS?" Tony demanded, frantically slamming fingers on several keyboards around the small room as monitors displayed the video feed from a dozen different angles.  One screen was working on boosting the audio, and another was creating a high resolution video of the proposal, using choice pieces of other angles to smooth out any little glitches or fuzzy images.

"Of course, Tony, you know I did." came the patient tone of JARVIS.

"Good, good, get that on a tape and delivered to their room before they get home. Let's make sure they get to keep that moment for ever, to embarass their great-grandkiddies with in the future!"

"Of course Tony. Now please... go to bed, you have been awake for approximately three days and six hours at this time." JARVIS demands, in his passive voice.

"No I have-... _yawn_... haven't..." Tony mutters in defiance, manic energy dissipating now the drones were returning to base, and JARVIS had the video feed situation in hand. "I'll just sit here for minute...."

The sentence trails off into tired snores, as the inventor slumps over a desk. Somewhere at the base of the tower, a gidy Wolverine and Spiderman were returning to their room... about to discover their proposal had already been caught, processed and provided in high definition direct to their door, by one of JARVIS' drones. 

Another drone drops a blanket over the sleeping _billionaire philanthropist genius playboy and superhero._

"Goodnight, Mr Stark. Rest Well."


End file.
